I whisper to demons
This is how I sleep
Eating apples
Off forbidden trees
In a wilderness
That echoes every piece of my
Imaginary eyes
You can keep your knowledge of good
And choke on your knowledge of evil
But I will still need to know
Why fictions compete against reality
For dominance
Are we the laughing deluded children
Who exited the garden with a binary knowledge
Trauma bonded to a collapsing fiction
Born of a jealous God
That never lives up to reality?
Or is it that reality never lives up to our fictions?
Have we become the fiction of dead men
Rotted corpses living still
In the ready flesh of able bodies
Creeped by fear into a corner?
To the rat, the scientist is God
To the scientist, the rat is reality
To reality, the experiment is a fiction
To a fiction, a person is a host
Stories are parasites
Agents act at their behest
Will we give agency to language
In a land of illusions
Ceaselessly searching
For a comfortable fiction
To take the reigns?
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